


Care Giving As Self Care

by TheseusInTheMaze



Series: Mauled Monsters [3]
Category: markiplier - Fandom
Genre: ABDL, Bondage, Canon typical body horror, Daddy Play, Diapers, M/M, Pants wetting, Tickling, bottle feeding, double blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 13:32:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15607347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: The Host can tell when Wilford is in need of a distraction. He does what he can to help.





	Care Giving As Self Care

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HappyKonny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyKonny/gifts).



Wilford was on edge.

The Host could tell, the way he could tell most things - the never ending narration running through his head like ticker tape told him, and some other things told him as well. 

He couldn't... see, per se, but he could sense.

Wilford's hands were shaking, and the Host could practically hear the lights gleaming off of Wilford's teeth. 

"Are you alright?"

The Host kept his voice calm, steady, as he reached a hand out to pat Wilford on the knee.

"Never been better," said Wilford, and yeah, no, there was that manic edge on his voice, sharp as a razor and just as deadly.

Wilford would never do anything to hurt any of the other egos - that was one of the rules that they all abided by.

But... well, the Host would rather that Wilford didn't do anything to anyone else.

Among other things, it brought people sniffing around in ways that were... inconvenient.

The Host was getting better at split second decisions - getting better at just deciding things on a dime.

Who knew that all that time spent being Little would have such a positive impact on him?

Go figure.

So, without thinking, he grabbed his glass of orange juice, and he dumped it into his lap.

"Daddy," the Host said, keeping is voice calm and even, "Daddy, I need you to help me."

There was quiet in the kitchen.

"What do you need help with?"

Wilford's voice still had that slightly manic edge.

"I need you to help me," said the Host again. 

"What happened?"

"Daddy," said the Host, "Daddy, I had an accident."

... okay, so maybe he was laying it on a bit thick.

It was surprisingly difficult for him to do this kind of thing sincerely. 

"Oh," said Wilford, and there was a crazy, fractured moment, as all of the possible futures spread out before the Host.

The future where Wilford yelled at him, because Wilford wasn't in the mood for that kind of thing.

The future where Wilford just walked away.

The future where Wilford slapped him. 

The Host was paralyzed, until there was a hand on his face, and then Wilford, was kissing him on the forehead.

"It's my fault," said Wilford. "I shouldn't have trusted such a little guy like you with a grown up glass."

"I'm sorry," said the Host.

The mania was beginning to fade from Wilford's voice, thank fuck.

"It's not your fault," said Wilford. "You're such a little guy, aren't you?"

Wilford's hand was on the Host's face now, and his thumb was stroking across the Host's cheekbone.

The Host took Wilford's thumb into his mouth, and he sucked on it. 

Not even in a sexy way - he was trying to be Little.

To think Little.

It was hard for him to get into Little space, a lot of the time - it was always hard for him to break out of his own head, no matter how hard he tried. 

But he was making the effort right now, and that was the important part, right?

Wilford shivered, and he sighed, his thumb pressed down on the Host's tongue.

"Let's get you out of those wet clothes," Wilford said, and he took the Host's hand in his hand. 

"Can I finish my breakfast first, please?"

"I need to help you with that," said Wilford, his tone solicitous, and the Host had to work hard to keep his face calm. 

It took effort not to snicker, or to roll the eyes he didn't have.

Wilford was, in a lot of ways, very predictable.

But the Host let Wilford, because Wilford was calming down. 

It was weird to think that just... taking care of the Host was enough to help Wilford calm down, but the Host wasn't one to judge.

It was nice to help someone.

Sometimes, it seemed like he was nothing but a machine to tell the future, nothing but a conduit for all the possible variations in time and space to pass through.

Being able to be useful was nice. 

So he opened his mouth obediently, as Wilford fed him bits of scrambled eggs, and he drank his water, as Wilford held the cup for him, holding on to Wilford's wrist. 

"Good boy," Wilford said, and his voice was quiet. "We'll get you a nice bath, then nice and protected. I'll mop the floor, and we can watch a movie, have a nap...."

The Host didn't mention that he wasn't really one for movies, because Wilford was clearly talking for his own benefit, not for the Host. 

Which, fair enough.

Fuck knew that Wilford talked to himself often enough. 

"Are you all done?"

Wilford's voice was sweet.

"I need to pee," the Host said, which was true. 

Where had that come from?

Sometimes it just... happened like that - the need to go to the bathroom just hit him like a hammer to the side of the head.

"Just pee," said Wilford. "You're already a mess."

"Are... are you sure?"

The Host was putting on some of his reluctance - he was okay with having to do this, he was okay with wetting his pants. 

He could see the possible futures from that, although he was thinking too deeply into it, possibly. 

Hmm.

He took a deep breath, and he let himself relax.

He let the heat of his own piss run down his leg, from the inside of one thigh, down to his leg, to puddle on his bare feet.

It was pooling up under him on the chair, and he was shaking, just a bit.

"Oh, buddy," said Wilford, in that same solicitous tone of voice. "You've made quite a mess of yourself, haven't you?"

"I'm sorry, Daddy," the Host said, and he made himself sound pitiful. 

Pitiful enough that Wilford was cupping his cheeks again, taking the Host's face in both hands and pressing their foreheads together. 

"You're just a little baby," Wilford said, in a sweet, loving tone of voice. "It's not your fault. None of it is your fault. You're just here for me to take care of."

That... was honestly a little bit chilling, but, well, it was Wilford.

He wasn't the best at keeping the creepy to a minimum.

"I'm sorry," said the Host, and he put more emotion into his voice than he was actually feeling.

Wilford kissed the Host's temple. 

"Let's get you cleaned up," Wilford told the Host.

The Host nodded, and took Wilford's hand.

* * *

It was a bit of a song and a dance to get the Host somewhat dried off and into the bathtub.

He had ended up walking into the bathroom bottomless, but nobody else was around, so that was fine.

Whenever he felt especially embarrassed, he would cast his mind towards the possible futures where he _hadn't_ done this, and almost lose himself into the mess of what might have happened otherwise.

... he had to be careful with that, admittedly, because, well, that way led to madness.

More madness than he was already experiencing.

He wasn't exactly experiencing madness, admittedly, but still.

The Host sighed, and he tilted his head back.

Wilford had left him alone in the bathtub for a little bit, as he went to properly mop up the kitchen floor and do some laundry, which left the Host to his own devices.

Not that the Host would complain too hard.

He sat in his bathtub, full of bubbles, and he chased the ducks around with his fingers.

He couldn't tell what colors they were - he would have to ask, at some point.

That wasn't important, though.

He was trying to reach his Little space.

He could do that.

He'd done it before, he could do it again.

He wasn't the best at just... falling into that headspace, but he could do it, eventually.

Even if he wasn't completely Little, he could at least play the part, right?

And then there was the sound of feet on the tile of the bathroom, and Dark was in the room.

The Host couldn't really explain how he knew that - usually it took him a few seconds to figure out who was in the room with him, but this time... not so much.

He knew it was Dark.

He'd say it was by scent, but the smell of the bubble bath was overwhelming.

"Well," said Dark, "what do we have here?"

The Host turned his eyeless face up towards Dark, and didn't say anything.

Dark rested a hand on top of the Host's head.

"I know what you're doing," Dark said. 

The Host continued to not say anything.

"It's a good gambit," said Dark. "I commend you for that."

"Commend him for what?"

Wilford was in the doorway, and he sounded a tad anxious.

That was unusual, but then again, something was setting off Wilford. 

Fucked if the Host knew.

"For being such a good boy," Dark said, as smooth as a razor blade someplace delicate. 

"He _is_ a good boy, isn't he?"

Wilford sounded very pleased, as if himself had orchestrated it. 

"Hasn't even peed in the bath water."

"No," said Wilford, and he sounded amused. "He peed on the kitchen floor."

"I suppose that's what happens when you leave a baby undiapered," said Dark.

The Host could practically _hear_ the spike of... something coming from Wilford.

What was it? 

Arousal? 

Anticipation?

Eagerness?

The Host didn't really... understand it, but then again, this wasn't about him, was it?

It was all about Wilford.

He was doing it for Wilford, and he was willing to do some pretty intense things for Wilford, especially considering the things that Wilford had done to pull him out of his own head. 

"I'll be going, then," said Dark, and he leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of the Host's head.

Dark smelled faintly of stale dark chocolate, and it gave the Host the shivers. 

And then Dark was just... gone.

It was a thing that he could do.

The Host was faintly curious about how he managed to do it - he'd done a few things, a few times, following the different paths that would lead him towards learning the answer, but none of those ends were... pleasant.

... maybe he was overthinking this, just a bit.

Oh well. 

He was the Host.

He was known for getting lost in his own head - that was probably one reason why Wilford was so drawn to him.

Wilford's madness ricocheted off of the inside of his own skull, and it was practically audible to anyone with any sort of foresight. 

It was... unsettling, to say the least, but so was the foresight in general, and the Host wasn't one to judge.

"Were you a good boy while Daddy was off cleaning?" 

The Host nodded, and then he made a slightly unsettled noise, as Wilford undid the bandage around his face.

"I know, you don't like having that off, but I need to wash your hair," said Wilford in a soothing tone of voice. "I'll put a clean one on you after, I promise."

It wouldn't stay clean that long - the Host's eyes bled sometimes, and that was... just how it was.

One of the consequences of the whatever it was that gave him his foresight. 

But then Wilford was holding a hand over the empty sockets of his eyes, to keep the water out, and then there was shampoo, and more rinsing.

It was... it was nice, to be taken care of. 

To be pampered, in just about every sense of the word.

The Host was entering his own quiet place, in the back of his head, he sighed, and let Wilford scrub him.

He couldn't... see Wilford, per se, but he knew what Wilford looked like, if that made any sense.

Wilford was sitting on the floor, and he had his sleeves rolled up, and he looked downright domestic.

Or at least, as domestic as Wilford ever looked, what with one thing and another.

Wilford radiated madness like a fever, and even those without extra senses could sense it on some level.

"There we go," said Wilford, pulling the Host out of his thoughts. "Clean baby. You ready to get out?"

The Host nodded.

Wilford took one of the Host's hands, and he slid the Host's thumb into the Host's mouth. 

The Host obediently began to suck on it, and a sense of calm began to settle into his bones.

It was one of those things - he'd never thought of himself having much of an oral fixation, and yet.

Here he was.

He sucked on his thumb, and he let himself be pulled upright, let Wilford drain the water out.

Then Wilford was tying another bandage around the Host's face, and the Host sighed, relaxing some.

Not having the wounds of his empty eyes open to the world at large helped a good deal.

He let himself be led into Wilford's bedroom, and then he was lying flat on his back.

"Daddy is going to get you nice and protected," said Wilford, in his sweet, soft voice. "Daddy is always going to protect you."

There was something... deep and complicated in Wilford's voice, and the Host reached out with his free hand, patting the top of Wilford's head. 

Wilford's hair was thick under his fingers, and it was soft.

Wilford made an amused noise, and he kissed the Host's palm.

The Host took his thumb out of his mouth, and used both hands to explore Wilford's face.

He knew what Wilford looked like, more or less, but still.

Wilford' mustache was ticklish against his palm, and Wilford's stubble was rough against his fingertips. 

"Aren't you an affectionate little thing," said Wilford, and then he was pushing something into the Host's mouth.

It was a pacifier.

It was a pacifier with a rubber nipple, and a little clip on top of the shield.

The Host sucked on it, tracing the seam of the nipple with the tip of his tongue.

"Aren't you just cute a cute little dickens?"

Wilford sounded amused, charmed.

The Host smiled around the pacifier, and then there was the tickle of Wilford's mustache against the Host's forehead. 

"Let's get you covered up, before you get sick," he told the Host.

The Host nodded.

* * *

Wilford put the Host in a thick cloth diaper. 

The Host was faintly curious about that - Wilford seemed especially fond of cloth diapers for some reason, although the Host didn't entirely understand why.

He suspected that Wilford was older than he let on - or possibly just not from this particular "when" - but then again, Wilford might just be weird.

No "might just be," really.

Wilford was weird.

And Wilford was... laying out the thick cloth diaper, between the Host's legs, bringing it up, and then there was more of it, there was... oh.

Oh, wow.

It was thick enough that it forced the Host's legs wide open, as Wilford pinned it closed, and Wilford was making sweet, cosseting noises to the Host.

"We'll have fun, won't we, baby?"

The edge of mania had returned to Wilford's voice, and the Host reached up, tangling his fingers in Wilford's hair.

Wilford made an inquiring noise, and then he laughed, as the Host grabbed for his nose.

It was easy to just... let his mind drift, to not think about possible futures.

To make himself as appealing and sweet and cuddly as he could.

Admittedly, some part of him felt a bit... weird about it, but fuck it.

After all, he had literally dug his own eyes out of his own face. 

He couldn't get much dumber than that, could he?

Wilford stood up, his face no longer in grabbing range, and the Host yawned, the pacifier falling out of his mouth. 

Wilford was sprinkling powder onto the Host's groin, running it across the Host's thighs, turning the skin soft and silky. 

The Host sighed, taking in the familiar scent of the baby powder.

He let himself be pinned into the thick diaper, and let Wilford slide the plastic pants onto him as well, the elastic already starting to dig into his thighs.

That was going to be uncomfortable later, but for now, he was kept padded and protected, the plastic crinkling with each shift he made.

"You look so cute," said Wilford. "I wish I could keep you like this all the time."

The Host froze, but only for a moment.

Not long enough for Wilford to notice.

The Host liked doing this sort of thing for short periods of time, yes, but for longer... not so much.

He liked his adult privileges.

But then Wilford's hands were on the Host's belly, and they were soft, warm and familiar. 

The Host sighed, squirming, and Wilford made an amused noise.

"Are you ticklish?"

The Host shook his head quickly, and he was beginning to giggle, just a bit.

"Are you _sure_?"

Wilford had taken on a silly voice, and it was enough to make him squirm some more, beginning to jiggle his leg.

"Who's my ticklish boy?"

Wilford's fingers darted across the Host's ribs and sides, and the Host began to squirm, giggling just a bit, as Wilford tickled him some more, moving from his belly to his armpits to the backs of his knees.

He was laughing hard enough that it was becoming hard to stay still, and then one of Wilford's big hands was on his belly.

"I should get a strap," Wilford said, his tone thoughtful. "It'd make it easier, so I don't have to worry about you falling off of something."

The Host flushed, biting his lip.

There was something inherently humiliating about that - about being laid out like that, about being treated like an actual helpless infant.

His cock twitched in the thick cloth diaper, and he sighed, taking his own thumb back into his mouth again and beginning to suck on it again. 

That helped.

It helped with the embarrassment.

The pink clouds of cotton candy that were his Little headspace began to descend onto his mind, and he welcomed them eagerly.

Pink cotton candy, to match Wilford's own pink.

The Host might not have known much about what Wilford looked like, but he most definitely knew about the pink.

It was hard not to know about Wilford without knowing about the pink. 

Wilford’s fingers were very delicate, as they traced across his skin.

“Such a good boy,” Wilford said. “Let’s get you dressed.” 

The Host nodded, still lost in the pink mist inside of his head. 

* * * 

Wilford dressed the Host up in… something.

The Host couldn’t tell - it felt like a t-shirt, but it had snaps at the crotch.

When he felt down between his legs, he could feel the snaps, which were straining to keep the thick cloth diaper in place.

Wilford tsked, and he batted the Host’s fingers away.

“None of that,” he said, in a teasing voice. “Now… what do you want to play with Daddy?”

The Host shrugged. 

“You want Daddy to choose?”

The Host nodded.

The pacifier - which had fallen out a while ago - was put back in the Host’s mouth.

“Be a good boy, now,” said Wilford, and he kissed the top of the Host’s head, “while Daddy gets stuff together.” 

* * *

The Host sat on the floor, and he was sucking on a pacifier. 

It was a nice pacifier - it filled his mouth up fully, and didn’t push against the front of his teeth the way baby pacifiers did.

… alright, so he’d done a bit of exploring on his own. 

Not much, but enough for it to be… interesting. 

To form his own opinions.

And Wilford was setting out paper, and then he was shoving a marker into the Host’s hand.

“Draw a nice picture for Daddy,” said Wilford.

The Host paused.

“I don’t… i can’t see,” the Host said. 

He could sense things, to be sure, but that didn’t really result in him being able to do things like draw.

“You don’t need to see,” said Wilford. “Daddy just wants you to do.”

“Oh,” said the Host, around the pacifier. 

“Very good,” said Wilford, and he covered the Host’s hand up with his own, and he guided it. “Do you remember how to write? Just like that, a nice big “D” for your Daddy….”

The Host let himself drift, as Wilford kept mumbling.

"Do you want to write Daddy's name, the way you used to write your stories?"

The Host paused.

That... that was a tender subject.

Was Wilford poking that for the sake of cruelty?

Because... because Wilford could be cruel, for the fun of it, for his own, complicated reasons, and the Host would only put up with so much.

Wilford nuzzled into the Host's temple.

"I'm sorry," said Wilford, and he sounded it. "That... I shouldn't have done that."

The Host leaned back into Wilford, and he tried to remember what it was like, to do with his hands.

He hadn't written for a long time, he hadn't drawn in a long time, he hadn't used his hand like this in who only knew how long.

His just let himself enjoy the kinetic sensation of it, of moving the marker across the paper.

Wilford's mustache was ticklish against the Host's neck, and he was making pleased noises.

"Very good," said Wilford. "Such a good boy, drawing such a nice picture for your Daddy."

The Host sighed, letting his hand be guided, letting the whole thing wash over him.

It was calming. 

* * *

At one point, the Host, getting bored, grabbed for a marker at random and pulled the cap off.

He brought the marker down onto his own arm, only to be scolded, gently.

“You’re not paper, baby boy,” said Wilford.

The Host made an amused noise around his pacifier, and he brought the marker down onto Wilford’s hand.

Wilford made a surprised noise, and then he was laughing.

“Well… why not,” said Wilford, and there was a rustling sound.

Then Wilford’s bare chest was right up against the Host’s arm, and another marker was being pushed into the Host’s hand.

“Draw on Daddy,” Wilford informed the Host. “Be a good boy, and make your Daddy all colorful.”

The Host began to scribble. 

He didn’t really think as he scribbled - he followed the contours of Wilford’s chest - the padding of Wilford’s ribs, the wiriness of Wilford’s chest hair, and then there was the thudding of Wilford’s heart, under the Host’s hand.

The Host dropped the marker, and he pressed his hand against Wilford’s chest.

Wilford was alive.

Wilford was alive, with a beating heart, and then Wilford was pressing his forehead against the Host’s own, and he was sighing, breathing the Host’s breath.

“There are things in my mind,” Wilford said, his voice very quiet. “Terrible things. Broken things. Things that have broken me.”

The Host sighed as well, putting his hands (no doubt covered in marker) on Wilford’s face. 

His fingers were getting wet - Wilford was crying.

The Host let the pacifier drop out of his mouth, and he kissed Wilford, the desperate kind of kiss that you’d see on the covers of a certain kind of romance novel. 

Wilford kissed him back, and there was more of that fevered mania, as Wilford’s fingers worked their way into the Host’s hair, his tongue in the Host’s mouth, his wet face smearing across the Host’s own. 

Wilford pulled back, and he was panting like he’d been running a race. 

“Aren’t you a pretty boy,” Wilford crooned. “Such a pretty boy for your Daddy. Such a good, pretty boy for your Daddy. Unbroken.”

The Host snorted, as another little bit of blood dripped down his face.

“Not as broken,” Wilford amended, and he kissed the Host’s forehead. 

The Host sighed, a long, deep sigh - here they were, a pair of mauled monsters, seeking what strange comfort they could. 

“You done coloring, baby?” 

The Host shrugged.

He was done coloring if Wilford wanted him to be done, which was fair enough.

“How about I get something nice, hm? I’ll get you some nice blocks, just be a good boy and lie back and wait for Daddy to put the markers away.”

The Host nodded, and he let himself be laid back onto his back.

Something soft and cuddly was put on his chest, as he held it to his chest, pressing his face into it, nuzzling.

There were fake whiskers right up against his face, and he was getting some of Wilford’s tears on the plushie - probably getting marker on it as well. 

Oh well.

Then the Host was being sat up again, and Wilford was wiping his hands clean with a wet washcloth. 

There was a loud, trundling sort of noise, and Wilford put something in the Host’s hand.

It was a letter block.

He’d played with those the last time he’d been seriously Little.

Huh.

He traced his fingers along each side, carefully reading it with his fingers, and then he put it down, and reached for the next one.

“You’re a thoughtful Little guy, aren’t you?”

Wilford’s tone was thoughtful. 

The Host blushed, but he nodded.

“Well,” said Wilford, “nothing wrong with thoughtful.”

He kissed the top of the Host’s head, and the Host leaned back into him, and reached for another block.

* * *

The Host had stacked his tower halfway as high as he wanted it when Dark was in the room.

Dark had been doing that a lot recently - just showing up in places, instead of doing things like opening doors, or other pedestrian modes of transportation.

Maybe he was tired of having to share a way of moving with the proles of the world.

But Dark was there, and he knocked down the Host’s tower, which… bluh, but Wilford seemed more upset about it than the Host was.

“Was that really _necessary_ , Dark?”

“Sorry,” said Dark, although he didn’t sound it. “I brought a bottle for your baby.”

“A bottle?”

“Putting up with your incessant chatter is thirsty work,” said Dark, his voice dry.

If the Host had eyes, he would have rolled them.

Oh, those two.

More of the constant sniping.

They didn’t do well with each other, did they?

Well… they did better with each than they did with anyone else.

“You’re in a mood,” Wilford said, and his tone was surprisingly mild.

"Maybe I'm tired of you hogging the baby," said Dark.

Now _that_ gave the Host some pause.

Usually Dark viewed these... foibles with a bit of disdain, as he viewed most anything related to regular human beings as slightly beneath him.

And yet, here he was, participating.

Huh.

Maybe he really was in a mood.

"What do you want to do with the baby?"

"I want to play with him," said Dark. 

"Well," said Wilford, "if you're not going to play nice, you can't play with him."

It was interesting, being talked over like this, as if he was an actual small child.

He liked it, kind of.

Wilford seemed to be enjoying it, if nothing else.

Then Dark was sitting next to the Host, and he was pulling the Host closer to him, as the pacifier was being pulled out of the Host's mouth, and a different rubber nipple was being pressed into his mouth.

He latched onto it, and he began to suck, to be surprised by the sweet taste of... apple juice?

"I thought he needed something sweet," said Dark, and he was almost... rocking the Host.

Huh.

Maybe Wilford wasn't the only one who needed something (or someone) to lavish affection on.

"Well," said Wilford, "as long as there isn't too much. It can give him tummy problems."

"Right," said Dark. 

The Host... drifted.

He let them talk over him, and he let the relaxation sink into his very bones.

Maybe he'd needed this as badly as Wilford, and just hadn't realized it.

But then the hand holding the bottle was shaking, and the Host extended his senses, trying to figure out what was going on.

Oh.

Wilford was kissing Dark.

Or maybe Dark was kissing Wilford - it was a bit hard to tell, from this angle.

But they were kissing, and Dark's free hand was on Wilford's chest, raking his nails across it.

The Host shuddered, as the bottle was removed from his mouth, and then Wilford's finger replaced it.

"The baby needs something to suck on," said Wilford. 

"Well," said Dark, "I'm sure I've got something for him."

"Do you now?"

Wilford was full on leering.

The Host snorted around the finger in his mouth, and he sucked it, a little harder.

* * *

They both sat on the bed, on either side of him.

Dark, in a fit of boredom, had taken his tie off, and had tied the Host's arms behind his back.

Probably for no other reason than because he could, or maybe because he liked to see the way that the Host wobbled. 

There was a cock in front of the Host's face.

It was Dark's cock - the Host could tell, from that same stale dark chocolate scent.

And then there was another cock in his face, and it was rubbing against his lips, and he was opening his mouth, to take each cock into his mouth, one at a time.

Dark and Wilford were both moaning, and they were moaning loud enough that it was practically echoing in the small room.

The Host's own cock was desperate and throbbing in his thick diapers, as he ground his hips against nothing, but there was nothing to be done about it.

The Host's senses were filled with the sensation of the two cocks, as he sucked, as he drooled down his chin, as they just... fucked his face.

Wilford was mumbling about how he was taking care of his little baby, and things similar to that.

The Host was tuning it out, just a bit.

He was sucking, and he was having his face fucked.

He was being a good boy for his Daddy, he was being a good boy for... whatever the fuck Dark was to him, even he wasn't sure sometimes.

He was just being used, in a way that made the inside of his head quiet, and that made him shudder some more, as both cocks were in his mouth now, and he could hear the wet sounds of Dark and Wilford kissing each other.

He wanted to be kissed.

He didn't want this to stop.

He didn't know what he wanted, exactly, except that he wanted to keep doing this, he wanted to keep breathing, he wanted them to keep fucking his face until they came.

He just... let himself be lost in it, let himself be used, let himself taste them, feel them, feel _himself_.

Wilford was calming down.

Even as Wilford's hips began to piston, began to work faster, he was just... calming down, losing all of the mania, all of the whatever it was that had prompted the Host to suggest all of this in the first place.

Whereas Dark... Dark was getting more frantic.

He had his fingers tightly knotted in the Host's hair, and he was using the Host desperately, just fucking into the Host's mouth, rubbing his own cock against Wilford's.

Dark came first, came right down the Host's throat, and that was... pretty gross, honestly.

Bitter, salty, slimy, but he swallowed it, took it all down his throat and drooled down his chin, as Dark kept his softening cock inside of the Host's mouth, and then Wilford was speeding up, except Wilford was pulling his cock out, and then he was cumming across the Host's face, which was... ick, but also hot, in a weird way.

"Look at that messy baby face," said Wilford, and his tone was affectionate. "Look at that."

"He's only a mess because you messed him up," Dark pointed out, and the Host would have rolled his eyes, if he could.

"I'm going to clean him up," Wilford assured Dark. 

"Are you going to let him cum?"

Dark's tone was surprisingly even, as if he was just asking a simple question, and not after something as important as the Host's own orgasm.

"I think I'm going to wait a bit for that," said Wilford. "I want to make sure that he earns it."

"What's he have to do to earn it? He's been a good baby."

"Well," said Wilford, and he pushed the Host's hair back, his tone utterly content and calm, "I guess we'll have to see, hm?"

**Author's Note:**

> Like this fic?
> 
> Want me to write you something like it, or something completely different?
> 
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